


Safe and Sound

by SaunterVaguely



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, no knotting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaunterVaguely/pseuds/SaunterVaguely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley's managed to keep the fact that he's an omega a secret until now, but with his heat building and a horde of demons after him, he can only think of one person to turn to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

It's the smell that hits Bobby first, a smoky, earthy scent that accompanies the slam of a door and has him looking up in confusion, expecting to see someone come running in with their hair on fire. Instead he only gets a glimpse of someone in a dark suit hurtling into his kitchen, followed by the sound of his cabinets being rifled through, and he stands up from his desk, reaching for the nearest gun. Before he can aim and shout out a threat, the intruder comes pelting back out, and he realizes that it's Crowley who is now hunching in front of his front door and drawing a line of oil over the threshold. With his other hand the demon is scribbling something in charcoal across the door, tension radiating from his huddled form. 

Wary but curious, Bobby steps up behind his unexpected guest and levels the shotgun at him out of habit rather than intent. "What in the hell are you doing to my door?"

The king of hell doesn't even spare him a glance, still furiously scrawling as he answers. "Afternoon, Robert. Sorry for the intrusion, but would you be a dear and go pour some holy oil and salt around all the windows and the back door?"

Bobby sputters indignantly. "What for?"

"For the horde of demons that's about to surround this place," Crowley replies, still not looking up.

"Wha-" The hunter turns his gun toward the windows immediately, glaring back and forth between the demon in his house and the apparently encroaching demons outside. Disgruntled but aware that this isn't the time to argue about it, he grabs the ingredients and goes about securing the place. He's finishing up the last window when he hears them coming- a low, rumbling roar that builds until it's rattling the glass panes and making him pull the curtains shut and duck down as he hurries back to the kitchen, ready to tear Crowley a new one.

However, when he gets back to the room he left Crowley in, the demon is nowhere to be found. Bobby squints down at the multitude of wards drawn across his floorboards, some familiar and some new. A faint sound catches his attention, leads him down to the basement. There, in his panic room, is Crowley, crouched down and still doodling feverishly over the floor.

"Okay," the human drawls, surprised when the demon actually flinches at the sound of his voice. "Now you need to tell me why, exactly, my house is surrounded by a screaming mob of demons. I'm guessing it's safe to say they're after you?"

Crowley's movements slow, and he sighs heavily before turning to look at the hunter. His face is flushed, sweat slicking his hair down, his eyes bright and anxious. "Yes. They're after me." His voice is hoarse, tired, and Bobby wonders how long he's been running from the bunch outside. 

The hunter crosses his arms over his chest and raises a brow, urging him on.

Crowley makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat, drops his gaze and adds, "I'm in heat."

There's a long pause while that sinks in, and finally Bobby manages a, "What."

The king of hell rolls his eyes and sits back on his haunches, brushing his knees off. "Heat. I'm- I'm an omega demon. It's that time of the century."

That rings a few bells. Bobby's read a few things about the alpha, beta, omega dynamic among demons, but there's not much information out there on the subject and it's hard to separate myth from fact. "So, those guys out there are alphas?"

"Alphas and betas." Crowley shrugs, fixing one of the marks on the floor with a pinky. "Omegas are pretty much the bottom rung."

"Yeah, how exactly did and omega demon end up king of hell, anyway?" Bobby asks skeptically. 

"By being clever," Crowley snaps back. He's about to add something else, some other snarky comeback, when a wave of heat overtakes him, sending him curling into a shuddering ball. His nails drag over the floor, hips making tiny motions, and he's actually muffling whimpers. Bobby automatically takes a step forward, reaching toward him, and Crowley's head snaps up as he snarls and scrambles back, eyes flashing. The hunter raises both hands, backing off even as he stares in surprise at how panicked the demon looks. When he seems to realize that Bobby's not coming after him, Crowley settles, and the hunter tries to continue his line of questioning.

"So what'd you do before you had my house to hide in? This ain't your first heat, right?"

Crowley shakes his head, scooting back to sit against the wall. "Of course not."

The words are accompanied by a fresh gust of that scent from earlier, and Bobby shifts uncomfortably. "Why do you smell like that, anyway? Like-" Like fall, he thinks stupidly, like campfires and orange leaves and crisp air.

Crowley scowls. "Hormones. How do you think that lot keeps finding me? I'm leaving a trail of 'come fuck me' everywhere I go."

That... really should not send a little shiver up Bobby's spine. He swallows and asks, "How long are you gonna be like this?"

The demon shrugs. He keeps refusing to look at the human and if Bobby didn't know better, he'd say he was embarrassed. "A week, maybe. It depends."

"A week? Seriously?" Christ, he can't deal with this for a week. No way. "You'd better have some backup plan, because you're not staying here for a week."

Crowley just looks at him again, squirming uneasily. "I'll be good," he offers quietly. "You won't even know I'm here. I'll just be down here riding it out by myself, and then I'll- I'll be gone before you know it-"

The idea of that, of having Crowley trapped in his basement and driven insane by the need to be fucked, to be _bred_ , sends a flush to Bobby's cheeks. That and the low rasp of that voice, the note of a plea in the promise to behave, and that _scent_ , have the hunter running a hand down his face and fighting off immediate arousal. This is not happening.

"Nope. No. Absolutely not." He thuds a hand against the wall in protest, then jabs a finger at the demon. "Whatever mess you're in, it's not my damn responsibility. We're not friends; I don't even like you." He watches Crowley's face fall and forces himself to keep a stern expression on his own. "Get outta my house, go poof away and find some other rathole to hide in."

"No," Crowley seems to blurt it out without intending to, and Bobby sees his fingers clench against the floor once more. "I- I can't 'poof' anywhere. Not when I'm like this."

"Not my problem." Okay, maybe he's being a bit heartless, but he knows Crowley well enough to understand that no matter what he says, he's always got some plan, some sneaky trick up his sleeve just in case. He's seen Crowley in action, knows that even without his little teleportation trick he can cut his way through a crowd with that inhuman strength of his. He'll be fine. 

The house gives another rumble, and this time Bobby can hear something outside let out a menacing howl, and that's just it. "Out," he orders firmly. 

Crowley looks briefly like Bobby has just kicked his hellhound puppy, but he composes himself very quickly and stands, slipping past the hunter and back upstairs. Bobby is tempted to bend down and get a better look at the marks on the floor, but for all he knows Crowley's already at the door, letting the hoard of furious demons into the house. He huffs in irritation and follows. He wonders why the king of hell seems so reticent about the whole thing- aren't omegas supposed to want to get bred or mated or whatever during their heats? He kind of figured that was the point. There's gotta be something he's after in the house, then, something he wants enough to ignore the heat. Bobby grinds his teeth in annoyance at the demon, who apparently thinks he's enough of an idiot not to catch on. Why the hell else would Crowley try to spend his heat in the house of a hunter? It's definitely a con.

Crowley is hovering indecisively in the doorway to the kitchen, distractedly glaring at the jars of rotgut that line one of the shelves. He starts when Bobby comes up behind him, shooting the human a quick look before shifting to face him. "Bobby-"

"No." Bobby cocks the shotgun that he hadn't really intended to use before now, aims it. "If you don't get outta my house, I'm gonna shoot you in the kneecaps and toss you out."

That cuts off whatever little speech Crowley had planned; the demon goes quiet and shuffles his feet like he knows he's been caught. He squares his shoulders and clears his throat, fixes his tie as he heads for the door looking like someone going to a board meeting rather than being forced out of a house at gunpoint. "Right. Off I go then."

Bobby keeps the gun trained on him, watching as he steps carefully around all the marks he's drawn. Hand on the doorknob, Crowley pauses and takes a breath, says in a stilted voice, "Robert. Do me one favor? Don't look outside. Whatever you hear, don't go out, don't look out the windows until it's over." Before Bobby can comment on that cryptic little request, the demon steps out into the building howls and roars, and the door thuds shut behind him. 

Bobby's strongly tempted to yank the door open and check to make sure Crowley's not vandalizing his property in some new and inventive way, but the urge to research is stronger. He locks the door, makes sure the salt and holy oil are still in place, and goes back to the library. It takes a few minutes of digging, but he finds the books he's looking for: two rare texts on demons. The first isn't much help. All it has to say on the subject of omegas is that they're "naturally submissive, quiet and sly" and that they go into heat "to lure potential mates to them". He sets that one aside and flips open the second book, finding the chapter on omegas and heat. 

 _Omega demons_ , the book reads, _go into their heat cycles involuntarily every fifty years to every century. They become driven by the need to be mounted, acting needy and wantonly desirous.They emit a powerful musk that attracts alphas and betas, sending them into a frenzy with the urge to mate._ Right, that seems accurate so far. _Sometimes, when an omega is not receptive to the potential mates, it will attempt to flee, hiding instinctively in places it feels safest in. This often riles up the pursuing alphas and betas even further._ Great. Great job, Crowley, make them even crazier. The news that Bobby's house is the safest place on Crowley's list is surprising, and he hears himself saying, "We're not friends. I don't even like you," remembers the way Crowley looked as the words sank in. It shouldn't make Bobby's chest twinge with shame, but it does _. During this time, the omega demon becomes weak, the hormones rendering it virtually powerless. This is nature's way of making them easier targets for superior demons to mate with._ Yeah, that's going over really well with Crowley. _Powerless_ , Bobby thinks, understanding suddenly the fear in the demon's eyes. Shit. _The omega's heat will last until one of two things happen: 1, The omega finds a suitable mate among its pursuers, signaling its new unavailability with a change in hormones. 2, The omega manages to hide until the heat wears off, usually between a week to a month. In some cases when the omega does not find a mate, the pursuing alphas and betas catch and breed it regardless, until the heat wears off or the omega dies of exhaustion and internal damage._

Jesus shit no. 


	2. Chapter 2

Bobby is shoving away from his desk and grabbing his gun again before his mind even has time to order his body to do it. No matter how he feels about the situation, he is not letting Crowley be raped to death on his front lawn. He runs to the kitchen and grabs a bottle of holy oil, taking a page out of Castiel's book by stuffing a rag into the opening and lighting the end. He hears a single muffled scream amidst all the excited howling from outside, and he charges to the door and kicks it open. 

The yard is swarming with them, demons in vessels and- he fights back his revulsion- demons out of vessels, swirling black clouds and hulking shapes with too many limbs and teeth, all clawing and hissing and snarling at each other in their struggle to get at the figure pinned to the ground. Crowley's barely visible under a mass of writhing, frantic movement, but Bobby can see that even powerless, he put up a fight. The ground around the pile is littered with blood and a few bodies.

"Balls," Bobby grunts, pulling his arm back and letting the bottle fly. It hits one of the big guys right in the head, bursting into flame and sending him screeching and crashing into the mound of rutting demons. Immediately Bobby's firing at the remaining invaders, chanting incantations to exorcise those within hearing range as he runs off the front step and into the crowd. By now the fire has spread a bit, and the pile has partially disbanded in favor of stop-drop-and-rolling. Crowley is more clearly visible now, kicking and trying to crawl away from the alphas still grappling at him. They've already gotten his pants down, torn them to pieces, and one is driving into him from behind, making low animal noises while Crowley claws at the dirt. Another is fumbling with his meatsuit's belt, fisting himself and climbing atop the omega with a feral grin. More hover around them, trying to join in. 

Bobby fires without pausing, taking the head off one and blasting a hole in another's chest. He clears his way through the cluster, switching to a pistol in one hand and a blessed knife in the other. The demon still inside Crowley snarls up at the hunter, refusing to flee. "Mine!" It spits, curling thick fingers around Crowley's throat. Crowley's eyes find Bobby's, seeming to see him for the first time.

"Bobby. Ruh- run," he croaks, blood running down his chin.

Bobby raises the gun, growls, " _Mine_ ," at the alpha and fires three times. He doesn't spare any time to watch the alpha fall headless to the ground, just grabs Crowley, hauling him up and dragging him away. A few others step into their path, reaching out to snatch Crowley from him, and he clears them away mercilessly. 

The door is suddenly in front of them, and Bobby swings Crowley inside, following him, and slams it shut behind them. He snags the oil and salt, retracing the wards just in time: there's a thud at the door, an enraged shriek, and the cacophonous howling begins anew. Satisfied that at least for now there won't be any break-ins, Bobby lets out a breath and turns to face Crowley.

The king of hell is bloody and almost naked, clothes in shreds around him as he drags himself away from the door. When Bobby takes a step toward him, he huddles in on himself and peers up at the hunter.

"Moron," he mutters, voice barely recognizable. "Could've got y'rself killed."

"I could say the same thing to you!" Bobby barks. "I thought you said this wasn't your first heat! I thought you could deal with it!"

"It's not my first," Crowley protests. "It's just the first since I became king. I'm much more... popular now. Back before- when I was just a crossroads demon- it was easier. A lot less interest, maybe three or four alphas, a beta or two."

"Easier to hide from?" Bobby guesses.

Another head shake. "Easier to deal with when they caught me. Now that I'm the head honcho, everyone's after me." He laughs hollowly. "Lucky me."

Bobby grimaces and purposefully avoids asking what was meant by 'deal with'. "So what's your plan?"

Crowley squints down at himself, assessing the damage. "Recollect myself and try going out the back door instead?"

"Jesus, Crowley, they'll kill you!"

"Probably; why d'you think I was trying to hide?"

"Dammit." Bobby glances at the nearest window, seeing shapes pace restlessly behind the blinds. "Okay, you're stayin' here. What do I need to do?"

"...Do?" Crowley asks slowly, warily. 

"Yeah. I mean, you should probably get cleaned up first of all, but is there some way to hide your, uh, scent? Or sort of- dull the heat? Otherwise you're gonna get all-" _Needy_ , the book said, _needy and wanton_. "Er, you'll get kinda... riled up, right?"

Crowley nods miserably. "When the heat starts to get more intense. It's only the scent and occasional spasms now; I'm not- ready." He looks up at Bobby. "Maybe an ice bath?"

"Sure." Bobby agrees, speaking a little softer now. He can't help it. Crowley looks so cornered, so small. "I should have enough bagged ice in the freezer downstairs. You want to take a shower first?"

Crowley hesitates, looks down at himself again, nods.

"Okay." The hunter leans in, offers a hand to help the demon up. "Bathroom's this way." He leads Crowley down the hall, careful not to touch him anywhere beyond the hand, and opens the bathroom door. "I'll get a robe and first aide kit. You let me know when you need that ice."

Crowley blinks at him, steps into the bathroom, and immediately drops to his knees to vomit into the toilet, his shoulders heaving. Bobby crouches next to him, hands hovering indecisively as the toilet bowl spatters with blood and spit and thick white fluids he doesn't want to think about. He lets his hands come down, gently, rubbing up and down the demon's back and avoiding the patches of bloody, raw-looking skin. Eventually Crowley's stomach is empty, and he dry-heaves for a few moments before standing and leaning away from Bobby's hands.

"Why're you helping me?" 

Bobby looks at him. His brow is lined in confusion and weary mistrust, and his skin is sallow under the blood. "Jeez, Crowley, I'm not a total asshole. I didn't- I didn't get how bad it was. I wouldn't have sent you out there if I'd known."

"But why should you care?" Crowley asks dully. "You hate me."

"I don't," Bobby promises, feeling a kick of guilt. What was he supposed to say? 'I don't hate you, I'm just scared that I'm gonna jump you and hump your brains out'? Yeah, that's the perfect thing to say to Crowley right now. "I'm helping you because you feel safe here." With that, he turns and goes upstairs to find a spare robe. He waits until he hears water running to hang the robe on the door, then sits outside the bathroom until the demon's done.

The door opens a crack ten minutes later, steam billowing out and a raspy voice cautiously calling, "Robert?"

"You know you're the only one that calls me Robert?" Bobby offers the demon a weak smile as he steps into the small room with the kit. 

"Good," Crowley responds haughtily, and Bobby laughs as he opens the kit. The demon is wrapped in the woolen robe, standing next to the sink and staring at Bobby, his wet-flattened hair making his big eyes look even bigger. 

"You wanna sit down?" Bobby asks, and Crowley shakes his head, tugging the robe tighter. The hunter fights the urge to go back outside and molotov the rest of the demons on his lawn. "Okay, I'm gonna try and bandage you up a bit since you can't heal when you're like this."

Crowley nods, then winces and turns to spit a bloody molar into the sink. Bobby doesn't comment on that, just goes about disinfecting one of the gashes on the demon's cheek. He moves slowly, and when he gets to the hem of the robe, Crowley lets it fall open to the waist. 

"Jeez," Bobby can't help remarking. Crowley's side is a mass of bruises, his stomach clawed to shallow ribbons. The cuts don't look too deep, thankfully, but he could very well have some broken ribs.

Crowley just shrugs. "I've had worse."

"Not reassuring," Bobby tells him, testing the skin gently. "Trouble breathing?"

The demon shifts. "I think they're cracked, not broken. I don't have that familiar 'punctured lung' feeling."

"Hooray," Bobby says dryly. Finished for now, he steps back. "I'm guessing you took care of," he points down, where Crowley's still covered, "While you were in the shower?"

Crowley nods, attempts a smile that ends up looking sickly. "Like I said. I've had worse."

Bobby sighs. "Well, at least I can't smell you as strongly now. I bet that means they can't smell you as much either."

"Mhm, for now," Crowley goes shuffling out of the bathroom, toward the kitchen. "Got any food in?"

Bobby follows him, thinking _Alright, makes sense- if he's powerless he's gonna get hungry_. "I can make you grilled cheese."

Crowley sniffs. "With that foul paste you call American cheese, no doubt."

"Do I look like a twelve year old?" Bobby snarks right back. "I've got white cheddar, aged six years."

The demon snorts in amusement. "Your cheese is older than your alcohol."

"Yeah, yeah, you want a sandwich or not?" Bobby's grinning despite himself; he's always enjoyed their banter. 

"Yes, alright."

Fifteen minutes later, they're both seated at the table (Bobby dug a car pillow out of the closet for the demon to sit on), eating their sandwiches and the tomato soup Crowley found in the pantry. They sit in companionable silence for a while, both trying to ignore the riot going on outside. 

Bobby's thinking about cracking open his bottle of 'good' scotch when he smells smoke and autumn. "Crowley...?"

The king of hell is squirming in his seat, biting his lip and scrunching his eyes shut. "Bobby..."

"Crap." Bobby drops the last bit of his sandwich and stands. "Ice bath. I'll go set up the ice bath." He moves to step past Crowley, but a hand catches the edge of his shirt. He looks down to see Crowley clutching at him, breathing hard through his nose.

"I need- Bobby, I need you."

 


	3. Chapter 3

"Oh, balls." The hunter glances lower and yep, Crowley's hard and the robe is not hiding it. His skin looks flushed, and when Bobby reaches down cautiously to touch the demon's forehead, it's scalding. He yanks his hand away, hissing, and Crowley makes a mournful sound and tries to follow. "Right," Bobby says urgently. "Ice bath now." He steps away, hurrying down to the basement to grab the big bag of ice. He carries it upstairs, dumps it into the tub, and fills the bath halfway with cold water before going to collect the overheating demon in his kitchen.

Crowley is hunched in on himself, face buried in the crook of one elbow, his other hand moving quickly under the robe.

"Dammit, Crowley, not at the table!" Bobby tugs his hand away, gets him to stand despite the noise of complaint. "C'mon."

"Sorry," Crowley chokes, leaning against him. "Can't stop it."

"I know," Bobby says soothingly, leading him back to the bathroom. "Okay, the water's gonna be pretty damn cold, so-" He gets cut off suddenly by the burning press of Crowley's lips over his, the wet brand of his tongue. The king of hell rocks against his hips, making soft greedy sounds, and the robe falls open as Bobby reaches out and slides both palms down his freshly bandaged back, mouth opening against his. The hunter's hands hesitate, thumbs dragging circles into his skin, and then move lower, cupping and squeezing gingerly. The air smells faintly of cloves. Crowley moans, blind with need, and then gasps when Bobby's grip shifts, tightens and actually lifts him off the floor to deposit him into the tub. Crowley shrieks at the shock of cold, thrashing, and Bobby holds him down, keeps his head above the water until the frantic movements cease.

"Feel any better?" Bobby asks carefully. 

Crowley sputters, wiping at his eyes, and blinks balefully up at the hunter. "I feel like you just dumped me into a tub of icewater, you prat."

"I'll take that as a yes." Bobby stands and grabs a towel, hanging it on the hook next to the tub. "So you're gonna stay here and cool off for a while, right?"

"Yes."

"Good." He lifts his hat from his head and runs a hand through his hair, sighing. "I'm gonna go set up a few more defenses around the windows and doors, just in case. If some other crisis arises, give a holler."

"Mmhm." Crowley's skin appears to actually be steaming, despite the violent shivers running along his goosebumped skin.

Bobby shakes his head and leaves the bathroom, half-closing the door quietly behind himself, then heads to the kitchen to get a few more safety precautions. He makes his way through the house slowly, shooting murderous glares at the windows whenever the hoard outside gets especially noisy. This certainly hasn't been the _most_ disturbing day of his life, but he's finding it a little difficult to think of one that was worse at the moment. He never thought he'd catch himself pitying Crowley, but, well... 

He finishes up with the warding, stands and cracks his back, sighs heavily and glances at his watch. Christ, it's 2:35 am, no wonder he's so tired. He stops outside the bathroom, cautiously peers in through the cracked door and sees Crowley curled in on himself in the tub, facing the wall, shoulders rocking. At first Bobby assumes he's touching himself again, and he feels a blush creep up his neck, but a muffled sound makes him step away, because he can maybe deal with a demon jerking off in his tub, but he's not watching a demon cry in his tub. He's also, he reminds himself, not going to go in there and hug said demon.

He staggers to his room, yawning and trying unsuccessfully to work the knot out of his shoulders. He kicks off his shoes and jeans, wrestles his way out of his flannel shirt, and crawls into bed. He's asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, and his last thought is a weary command to himself not to dream about Crowley.

He dreams about Crowley.

In his dream, Crowley's not frantic or instinct-driven, and there's no fear or hurt in his eyes. He's smiling and warm as Bobby lays him down on the bed, strips off his suit and strokes his unmarred skin. They kiss, easy and gentle, then hard, breathing through their noses as they press together. The dream shifts, and suddenly Bobby is crouched above Crowley, his knees on either side of the demon's shoulders, not quite sitting on his chest. The king of hell blinks up at him and leans in, hands rubbing at the hunter's thighs. Crowley's mouth is hot, so hot and wet and tight and Bobby groans and bucks forward, driving into that greedy heat. Crowley moans around him, sucks harder and lets Bobby fuck his mouth like nothing in the world could make him happier. The heat builds, suffocating, and the smell of leaves and campfires and cloves is filling Bobby's lungs, and it's too hot, he's blinking awake-

-and he's not alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. This is THE SEX.

 

His first instinct is to reach for a gun, because the weight and movement haven't left his bed and usually that means danger, but the heat doubles and clenches around him and he falters, looks up. Crowley is above him, shuddering and panting as he rides the hunter. His eyes are glazed over, lips bitten raw and bloody, and his skin is still pricked with goosebumps despite the heat rolling off of him in waves. 

"Crowley- fuck-" Bobby grabs at the demon's hips urgently, brain still fogged with sleep and lust, and tries to stop him or at least slow the pace of his thrusts because god, that has to be hurting him. "Stop, Crowley, you gotta-"

But apparently Crowley can't or won't stop, because he just lets out a whine and ruts faster, thighs slapping against Bobby's hips. Bobby can't help the moan that jolts out of him, because how many times has he imagined this, wanted Crowley wound tight around him or pressed against him, wrapped in his arms and his sheets? Too many times to count. And here it is, happening, except it's _not_ , it's not happening the way he wanted. This is Crowley in a haze of hormones and terror; he can't think enough to know who he's with or what he's doing beyond the urge to be mounted and mated. That's what's driving him crazy, the fact that Crowley doesn't _see_ him.

The demon rocks down onto him again, fingers digging bruises into Bobby's shoulders, and buries his face in the hunter's throat, whimpering out nonsensical sounds. No- not nonsense. He's whispering something, sob-breathing it against the other man's skin with every rise and fall. Bobby strains to make it out, his own hips twitching up into that demanding heat, and gasps shakily when he hears it.

"Bobby," Crowley's breath hitches at every motion, but he keeps saying it. "Bobby, Bobby. Please- please, Bobby..."

The hunter actually freezes for a second, and Crowley whines and clings to him, riding him harder and harder. Bobby jerks back into motion, grabbing the demon's waist and rolling, flipping them so that Crowley is pressed back into the sheets and Bobby is above him, nestled between his legs. Now he's in control of how fast they move, and he sets a slower, careful pace, shallowly thrusting into the man writhing beneath him. Crowley sobs and clutches at him again, thighs winding tight around the human's sides as he tries to bite back his ragged chanting of Bobby's name, the pleas that fall from his lips. 

All too soon, Bobby's climax is roaring through him, and he tries his best not to slam into Crowley any harder than he already has. The demon is nearly vibrating underneath him, shaking and whimpering and clenching around him, and he realizes guiltily that Crowley's still hard. Bobby reaches between them and takes him in one hand, stroking him. Crowley damn near wails at that, shuddering and flushing from his cheeks down to his chest as he comes into Bobby's palm, scalding hot.

They collapse together and Bobby pulls out, but Crowley doesn't let him get far, clinging to him determinedly even as his eyes slip shut.

Bobby lets himself be held, and he hears the demon give a contented sigh into the darkened room.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

He wakes to what he thinks at first is the smell of pie baking- cinnamon, cloves, some faint warm spice. He breathes it in, makes a slow rumbling sound, and hears it echoed to his left.

Oh. 

He opens his eyes cautiously, expecting to see- who knows, maybe an enraged demon, maybe a heat-driven demon, maybe a demon holding a pie. Instead he finds that he is the first one awake: Crowley is curled up at his side, cheek mashed into the pillow, eyes closed as he breathes quietly. He looks... softer, younger, less like a shady overlord and more like someone Bobby might have simply met at the store, might have asked out for coffee and gone on a few dates with. He's still warmer than normal, but not sweltering fever-hot, and he sighs when Bobby pulls a blanket over him. The hunter pauses for just a second before leaning in to kiss Crowley's cheek.

The king of hell mumbles something, shifts, rubs a fist across his eyes before blinking up at Bobby. His hair is ruffled and he squints against the light coming through the curtains, but his gaze seems clearer, not as fogged and frantic. He blinks again, frown lines forming between his brows.

"...Morning?" He says, voice rising questioningly.

Bobby's lips quirk in a crooked smile, gaze soft. "Morning." He can't resist the urge to press another kiss to the demon's forehead, and when he sits back, Crowley is staring at him in open surprise. "How're you feeling?" The hunter asks, gesturing toward the other man's bandaged torso.

Crowley still seems a bit thrown by the situation, but he lifts the blankets and gingerly prods his stomach and sides. "Oh..."

"What?" Bobby sits up anxiously. "What is it?"

Instead of answering, Crowley peels away the bandage to reveal that what should be fresh hematomas and still-bloody wounds have faded to nearly-healed scratches and yellowing bruises. 

"Huh," Bobby says after some contemplation. "So uh... your healing's working again?"

"Not yet," Crowley says vaguely. "Not entirely. But it's..." His brows furrow, eyes darting back and forth, and then he looks slowly up at Bobby. "Uh. Do I- do I smell any different to you?"

Bobby cocks his head. "Yeah, actually. I kinda noticed last night, but it's stronger now. Before, you smelled sort of, I dunno, smokey? And now it's more of a... spice smell? Like baking."

Crowley sighs, seems to deflate a little. "Perfect."

"What now?" Bobby asks warily. He's pretty much had it had it with unexpected demonic complications.

The king of hell closes his eyes, rubs a thumb along the bridge of his nose, opens his eyes and looks at Bobby. "You're my, er, my alpha. My mate."

Bobby stares at him. "Mate as in...?"

Crowley nods, looking defeated.

The hunter and demon sit in silence for a moment, both processing, and when Bobby raises his hand Crowley twitches like he's expecting a blow. Instead, the human settles his palm, rough and warm, against Crowley's cheek. He bends down and kisses the other man, fully on the mouth this time, and he hears Crowley's muffled noise of shock before pulling away to suggest, "Maybe we ought to take a shower."

"Okay," Crowley agrees automatically, still looking stunned. He follows the hunter to the bathroom, padding along silently behind him with no apparent care for his nudity. Bobby's still in his boxers and undershirt, but he strips them away when they get to the bathroom, and when he glances up he sees Crowley staring at him, mouth open slightly and eyes dark. That clove-and-cinnamon scent fills the air again, and the hunter chuckles a little and stands up straight, holding out a hand. The demon steps forward, taking the offered hand a bit awkwardly, and Bobby leads him into the shower. 

The water pressure is decent enough that they don't need to press together to wash, but they press together anyway, fumbling with the soap and a cloth as they rinse each other off. Crowley seems hesitant at first, but then his hands creep down and Bobby feels warm fingers curl around his length and he groans and leans into the touch. Crowley strokes him slowly, in steady confident motions, and Bobby wraps an arm around his waist and presses the soaked washcloth to his still-loose hole, dabbing at him gingerly. Crowley shudders and makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, shifts his stance so that his legs are spread for easier access. Bobby can't help the swell of overwhelming affection at that, almost in awe of the trust he's being offered, especially in the knowledge of what he witnessed yesterday. Healing or not, used to it or not, Bobby had seen Crowley's eyes after that brutal assault. He'd been terrified, probably still is on some level, but here he is, touching and letting himself be touched in the most intimate ways. The hunter presses a kiss to the demon's temple, hands still making slow, steady circles up and down his back. Crowley's hand tightens around him, pumping firmly, and he nuzzles his way up Bobby's throat, sucking and kissing. The human moans and grinds into the pressure, cautiously moving one hand around and finding that Crowley's hard, too, under the spray. He gives a squeeze and is rewarded with a low sound that is almost lost under the hiss of the water. The demon's hand moves faster, twisting and coaxing him closer and closer to his climax until Bobby drops his head onto Crowley's shoulder and groans deep in his throat, legs tensing up as he releases. Crowley makes a soft 'hmm' sound and lets the shower rinse his hand clean before running his palm up Bobby's side and around his back, fingertips running along his shoulder blades. Bobby pants against Crowley's slick skin for a few minutes before realizing that he's still holding the demon's probably-verging-on-painful erection, not moving, just cradling it in one hand while Crowley stands perfectly still like he's trying not to draw attention to himself. The hunter straightens, nuzzles at the damp hair on top of Crowley's head, and kisses just under his ear before sinking to the tiled floor of the shower. 

Crowley seems thrown for a moment, blinking down at Bobby with a quizzical expression, but that quickly melts into astonished pleasure when the human wraps an arm around his hips and leans in to cautiously suck at the head of his cock. "Oh fuck, Bobby-"

Bobby, having decided that the taste isn't so bad and that he's surprisingly comfortable with this situation, proceeds to swallow as much of the demon's arousal as he can, fingers tightening around what he can't get his mouth to. Crowley makes a sound above him, not quite a scream but close. Stiffly at first, then building up a rhythm, Bobby rocks his head back and forth, throat clenching. Crowley's hips are rocking slightly, and the hunter stills his own movements and lets the demon buck into him, lets him control the pace. Crowley's fingers curl into Bobby's thinning hair, biting his lip to keep his noises down. He shudders, moans out a strangled jumble of words that mostly consist of "Fffuuuuck" and "Bobby, I, oh fuck I-" and "Please oh shit I can't- I- you-" and then Bobby's throat burns slightly and he swallows automatically before pulling off to cough a little. 

Crowley's fingernails drag against his scalp, pleasant scratching sensations, and Bobby bends his head to kiss the crease between leg and hip before standing. Crowley looks up at him, breathless and silent and warmed by the water, and kisses him long and deep, arms winding around his waist. Bobby can't help smiling into the kiss, his own hands clasping the king of hell's shoulders and drawing him in close. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's another short one, but it works best for the pacing. Also I don't know how Bobby's neighbors have not noticed his yard full of demons. Maybe they think he's hosting an anime convention with lots of cosplayers.

They finish rinsing off, interspersed with slow, drawn-out kisses and fond glances, and step out of the shower. Crowley's legs are still shaky (he tries to hide this fact but Bobby notices immediately) and the hunter shoos him back to the bedroom to lay down once more. The demon goes with minimal fuss, even letting the human help him into a pair of boxers and a worn-soft t-shirt, revealing just how weary he still is. Bobby waits until he gets settled in, watches him squirm his way under the blankets before bending to drop one last kiss to his lips. Crowley waves him away with a scowl he doesn't mean, and Bobby chuckles as he steps out of the room. It feels good to do this, to let himself look after someone so wholeheartedly again, rather than simply telling them how to solve a problem. It makes him feel needed, necessary.  

"I'll wake you when breakfast- er, lunch, I guess- is ready."

"Mhmm." Crowley's already burrowing his face into the pillows, a vague shape in the dark. Bobby grins to himself, catching a faint whiff of that intoxicating musk before he shuts the door and heads down the hall.

He risks a glance out the kitchen window and groans when he sees that his yard is still crawling with pissed-off, rut-crazy demons. Fewer than yesterday, sure, but still enough to cause some serious problems. He huffs and goes into the study, pulling out the books he had been looking through before. There's gotta be something in here about dealing with this kind of situation. And if not, he ought to write down what he's learned so far for future reference. 

He finds a few more scraps of information, though as usual he's not sure what's real and what's myth. Supposedly, a mated omega can't refuse his or her alpha anything, can't disobey directly or mate with anyone else. Seems horribly archaic and rings of some of the more idiotic notions people used to have about women or slaves. It would explain why Crowley looked so dejected when he realized that he'd been paired off with Bobby. A hunter with control of the king of hell? That can't be a good prospect for the demon. He bookmarks that page, scribbles a few notes into his notebook and moves on. The next page helpful page he finds says that with the change in Crowley's hormones, the others should get the message and clear out. Hmm. 

Bobby stands up from the desk and approaches the window again, cautious, reaching for his shotgun with one hand as he cracks the window open just enough to let the scent of clove and cinnamon waft out. He sees one of the closest demons look up, nostrils flared, and he tenses for a second, expecting it to come flying at the open window. Instead, the demon snarls, turns away, and goes skulking down the driveway. One by one, the others follow suit until the yard is clear of all but a few apparently stubborn idiots that he can take care of later on his own.

He feels a sense of accomplishment, and a bone-deep pulse of pride in himself for having driven off his "competition". He's contemplating what he's got in the fridge to make lunch with- he might be able to manage pancakes- as he turns, only to see Crowley standing over his desk, still in the borrowed shirt and boxers, looking down at his open books and notes. His notes which say things like " _Crowley_ : weakened state from bloodloss/attack/heat?" "trapped in house" "heat= obedient?" "no powers, vulnerable", " _omega_ " and " _control_ ". 

"Oh," Crowley says.

"Shit," Bobby says. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, my darlings!

"Research," Crowley's voice is still scratchy from sleep, hollow and resigned. "Of course this was about research."

"Crowley-"

"It's fine," Crowley cuts him off, waving away his explanation. "I should have- it should have been obvious." His eyes are hard and cold, all cruel king and none of the open, raw trust of the man Bobby saw last night. It hurts to lose that. "So," the demon continues, spreading his arms. "What do you want? What research do you need to do? Want to chain me up in the basement? Cut me open and take samples? You must know you've got me now; you've read about omegas. You know once we've been mated we can't disobey our _alpha_ ," he spits the last word, lip curling, but his hands are shaking by his sides and Bobby pushes away from the desk, steps toward him. Crowley raises his hands, flinching away but prepared to defend himself. The hunter catches his wrists, curls gentle fingers around his fist and bringing them toward himself to kiss the knuckles.

"Bastard," Crowley hisses, trying to tug his hands back, but his powers aren't really back yet (fortunately for Bobby) and he's still weak from sleep, sex and bloodloss, so the human manages to keep from getting slugged. 

"Crowley," Bobby tries again in a coaxing voice, then, " _Crowley, dammit_ -"

The king of hell glares at him, but stops struggling. 

"Will you calm down and listen?" Bobby asks, trying not to raise his voice. When he gets another glare, he sighs and continues, softer. "Yes, I'm researching omegas. That's what I do, I research things I need to know more about." Crowley growls at him, but he adds, "And if I'm gonna be a good alpha or partner or mate or whatever you want to call me, I want to know everything I can. I want to know how to help you with your heats, how to take care of you-"

"I don't need taking care of!" The demon retorts, but his brows are lined and he looks more wary than furious now.

"Okay," Bobby agrees easily. "Maybe you don't. I know you're smart, and I know you've been doin' fine for yourself 'til now," he sees a flicker behind Crowley's eyes. "But I also know that you're lonely. And I know what loneliness can do to a person."

"I'm not a person," Crowley protests in a mutter, without much conviction. 

"You are too, idjit, don't pull that crap with me." Bobby rolls his eyes. "Look, I dunno all the insides and outs of demonic marital law or what have you-"

Crowley snorts.

"-but from what I understand, this is kind of a big deal. Like, permanent. Right?"

"...Generally," the dark-haired man allows. 

"Right. Now, I know I'm not exactly a catch- I'm probably the farthest thing from it by your standards. But you feel safe with me, and I want you to always feel safe with me. So when you need a place to camp out, or hide, or even if you just need a place to drink and bitch about work, I want you to come to me," he catches Crowley's gaze. "And I promise you, I'll never make you do- anything." He's seen all too well how people abuse power when they get their hands on someone they can control, and he refuses to be a part of that. He's done a decent job of not turning into his old man so far, and he's not planning on changing that. "Never. I'll only use this stupid 'alpha power' thing if you're bein' a homicidal, power hungry bastard."

Crowley narrows his eyes. "I'm always a-"

"Yeah, okay, lemme revise that- a homicidal power hungry bastard that's puttin' people- including _himself_ \- in danger. And even then I think I'd be better at just talkin' you out of it." That's inclusive enough to keep the boys safe, and hopefully dissuade Crowley from any world domination schemes.

The demon blinks up at him, clearly at war with himself. Bobby's still holding both of his hands, loosely now, stroking his knuckles lightly. Finally he forces a slow, shaky breath out and what almost sounds like a laugh. "Damn you, Robert Singer," he says, somewhere between mournful and amused. "You just had to be perfect, didn't you?"

Bobby snorts and steps a little closer. He's not going to start arguing over the idea of "perfect" right now- he knows he's got his issues, but it's nice to hear anyway- so he just shrugs and leans in close enough to kiss. "That's kinda the point, ain't it?"

This time Crowley makes a faint huffing sound, but he doesn't move away. "Sentimental old bastard."

"Yep."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/questions are always welcome!


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